


A Dead Man Can’t Hurt You

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Eventual Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, F/M, Hermione is in Year 9, Murder, Smut, Trials, Viktor is in Year 12
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:53:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26729980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Miss Granger, can you please describe your relationship to Mr Krum? Anything you remember about him that you believe could be linked to his death?”
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum
Kudos: 9





	A Dead Man Can’t Hurt You

“I remember the first time, clear as the moonlight that shone through the window of my bedroom. He walked me home, then escorted me to my bedroom. I hugged him and he leaned his head down to give me a peck on my forehead. And then we kissed, and it was lovely. He led a trail of kisses down my neck to my collarbone. Before he could take things any further I found my hands pressed flat against his chest, pushing him, willing him to leave, but he tightened his grip around my shoulders and held me close. Closer. Too close for comfort. He span me around, he walked me backwards until my bed collided with the back of my knees, forcing me onto my back, with him now laying on top of me. My lungs screamed for air due to the weight of his body on mine. His movements were erratic as he struggled to manoeuvre himself around my clothes, his pulling my skirt down and tearing through my tights, pushing my underwear to the side with little patience. I didn’t even notice him unbuckling his trousers or pulling down his boxers.

“But I remember the sound of him grunting in pleasure, with no regard to the excruciating pain I was experiencing as he stretched me, his hips thrusting frantically against me. After a few minutes he came undone inside me with a guttural moan, pushing himself off of the bed. Then after another few minutes, he left. He left me lying there.

“I remember looking around, seeing the remnants of his deeds surrounding me, inside of me. My yellow blanket discarded, thrown to the side of my bed along with my skirt. A black leather pencil skirt, one that I had worn probably dozens of times, sullied, soiled by the memory of his violation. I felt a thick liquid weeping out of my running down my thighs. A mixture of his cum and my blood, most likely, staining my white cotton bedsheets.

“I remember the feeling of scaling hot water against my skin, almost burning the most sensitive parts of my body. I scrubbed as hard as I could, until I bled, until the skin around my collarbone and my neck and my thighs was raw and red. I cried and sobbed and screamed until my throat was also raw, until I could cry no longer, until I could scream no longer. I sat in the corner of the shower, hugging my knees as the steam clouded my vision. I dragged myself to my bedroom but I found that I could no longer lie in that bed knowing the things that had happened there. I slept in my parents’ bedroom that night. My mum works the night shift every day except weekends and my dad had gone on a business trip in France, like he did every other Tuesday and Wednesday. Viktor knew this.

“I remember how the feeling of betrayal then settled in. The thought of how I had confided in him, how I had trusted him. How he used that trust against me.

“I remember how he showed up to school the next day, walking up to my friends and me as they spoke and I listened. He hugged me briefly as he always would and as I flinched at the feeling of the warmth of his body he laughed. He asked me “What’s got you so scared?”. I hated how he acted like nothing had happened. I hated myself for letting him even get close enough to do what he did.

“I remember how the fear settled in my stomach as he placed his arm carefully around my shoulder. “You don’t mind if I borrow her for a second, do you?” He pulled me to and abandoned classroom and as I shrank away from him he laughed at me. Again. “I just wanna talk”, he said “About what happened last night.” He said “You’re not gonna tell anyone, yeah? This’ll be our little secret. Nobody would believe you anyway. Not with the way you throw yourself all over me and all the other sixth form guys. I mean, really, you were asking for it. No one will believe that we did anything that you didn’t want me to do. In fact, I could tell them you practically begged for it and they would believe me. It’s my word against yours.” I was shaking, tears were running down my face. He cornered me again. I cried for him to stop but he pulled up my grey school uniform skirt and took me anyways.

“I remember every single time he violated me. He would pull me aside, away from my friends into empty classrooms and storage closets. He would come to my house every other Tuesday and Wednesday. Sometimes he would do it in my bedroom, sometimes in the living room, sometimes in the kitchen. Once or twice he showed up on a weekend in the dead of night, knocking quietly on the door, suppressing his moans as he broke me in my bedroom with my parents asleep just next door.

“I remember looking back and telling myself that I should’ve said something, told someone, done something. I could’ve told the police, or even a friend. But how could I tell the world that he treated my like a slave with no choice made to do _his_ bidding and to please _him_ when after he was done he would hug me and caress me, kiss my ear or my forehead and tell me how I was beautiful... no, how I _felt_ beautiful. How my “cunt felt amazing wrapped around his cock”, but how I “should try and moan or something, sometimes I feel like I’m fucking a coma patient”. He would laugh at that part. As if to say, “I’m taking you against your will, but hey, at least you’re not unconscious”.

“I remember how every time, before he violated me he would tell me “I’m sorry”. As if it would absolve him of all his wrongdoings. It was only recently that I realised that he was apologising not for was he had done to me, but for what we both knew he was about to do. I know he felt no remorse. If he did, he would’ve stopped.

“I remember how he did. He just stopped. He stopped showing up to my house, he stopped pulling me into abandoned rooms to have his way with me. I don’t know why. I suppose it may have something to do with the fact that his body was lying dead in an alleyway behind my house, but I guess I’ll never know for sure.”

Hermione finally looked up, her gaze meeting the eyes of the judge, her head tilted slightly to the side.

“So you admit to murdering Mr Krum, Miss Granger?”

* * *

Her head turned to where the voice came from. A man stood there in a blue suit blazer, trousers which were too short for him And a white button up shirt with sleeves that were too long but at the same time too small, cuffs unable to be held together even by cuff links. He had a purple tie worn loosely and a pair of stretched out black Doc Martens. The look he wore on his face was one not of sympathy, but of disgust.

“Me? Murder? Oh, no, that’s far too messy. And plus, I was busy that day.”

The hatred in his face grew.

“Busy indeed, Miss Granger. You said you were at a friend’s house? And yet you have no witnesses who can confirm this story?”

“Of course I have witnesses, sir. Every year Pansy Parkinson hosts a party at her house on her birthday, the 16th of July. This year a friend of mine was going, and he had convinced me to go with him. I had been staying with this friend for the week that preceded the party. I had grown tired of seeing Krum. I felt safer from him there than at home. Even at school though, I stopped seeing him.

“Parkinson and Zabini can both confirm that I arrived at 5pm on the 16th to help set up and several people can confirm that I didn’t leave until about 3am the next day. From her house we took a cab straight to the airport to catch a flight to France, where we spent the next week together. I believe the estimated time and date of death was at around 12am on the 17th, is that correct.”

The man coughed, a look of discomfort on his face as his plan fell apart. “Yes, that is correct.”

As she spoke, the look on her face was what was perceived by some as boredom, and by others as mere indifference. With one eyebrow lifted above the other, she spoke:

“Any other questions?”

**Author's Note:**

> So? How did I do? I’m not completely sure what the next few chapters are going to be like but I have a vague idea of what the plot is going to be. I hope you guys enjoyed this first chapter though!


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